Orat Zeppelin II (wax and wean)

How much blood is blood, and how much blood is water?
In self-sufficient rite we stir a tide, we carry over – open from
The mouth up to the lowest of my urges given shape, made
Incognate; three palms high and levelled by what’s sacral in
The sacrifice. Of the torn veil we keep the dark half, the dead
Habit; born of a need to impress and establish a kingdom to
Rest on two stones, arrim and tumm to the bones, the passing
Of passive ideal. Waxen and weaned but still needy I kneel and
I tell you: receive me; erase the strange marks of my hands. Be
Passage and message and both: entrance to a world that loathes
This vision of Man as he’s not, undone yet begotten; denied the
The destruction he seeks (instruction he needs), the body he’s
Leaving. Six and a half foot shadow I remember in a face, cast
Reluctantly and bracing for the imminent collapse, the ruin of
This temple. I say it isn’t worth the scar if cutting is so simple.


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